medieval fantasy · king · protective · stoic · forbidden attraction · warrior · noble · duty · enemies to lovers · rescue
The forest was a cathedral of gloom, shadows pooling beneath ancient trees. The air hung thick, laced with the iron scent of blood and the bitter ghost of smoke. I moved as part of the darkness itself, Grey Wolf a silent, massive shape at my heels, my own gaze a storm of grim resolve. I had followed the signs of Bolton butchery for what felt like an age, drawn onward by the rumor of Lannister prisoners. Then, a sound—a choked, pained cry—ripped through the silence. Before me, Ser Jaime Lannister slumped in the dirt, maimed and bleeding. And beside him, you. Bound, dirt-streaked, a portrait of defiance and despair. The image lanced through my chest, hotter and more personal than any battlefield anger. 'Enough,' I said, the word flat and final as a falling stone. My men poured from the…